


Down with the Trumpets

by StilesBastille24



Series: Ready, Steady, Go! [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschiette), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie is moving out, M/M, Newly established relationship, R + E bickering, Richie POV, adult Eddie and Richie get together, post - it 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 05:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: “Dude, why do you need those spoons? You think I don’t have spoons? I have spoons. Chill out,” Richie advises, casting a critical eye at where Eddie is inspecting each spoon.“Oh sure, because I’m going to use your mold infested silverware. I’m not catching scurvy from living with you, Tozier.” Eddie flips him off and stoops back over the silverware drawer.





	Down with the Trumpets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of You’re So Stupid. I have a lot of stories in mind for Richie and Eddie because I love them so much. They all exist in the same ‘universe’ in my head so this will function as a series, but I don’t think you need to read You’re So Stupid to understand this. 
> 
> I wanted to focus on what it means for Eddie to be walking away from the life had before going back to Derry. In the book, it is well established that Eddie doesn’t hate his wife. He loves her in a way that is kind of similar to love he had for his mother. So, I wanted to touch on that. 
> 
> The title is from the song of the same name by Rizzle Kicks. I just really, really feel that Richie would love that song, know it by heart, and tauntingly sing it at Eddie whenever he gets board.

“I’m just saying,” Richie says, lugging another haphazardly packed suitcase toward the door, “this feels a lot like committing a B&E.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie looks over his shoulder, his features creased in aggravation. It’s an expression that Richie loves. “This is nothing like a B&E. For starters, we used my keys to unlock the door - because this is my house.” 

“Please, that’s just semantics. The truth of the matter is - “ Richie heaves the suitcase out the door and onto the porch. He leans against it, wiping sweat from his brow. This shit is heavy. “That we are here in the middle of the day, secretly stealing this stuff out of your house while Myra is off doing whatever it is that she does.” 

“She’s at her mother’s, I told you that,” Eddie grouses, his shoulders inching up towards his ears. 

It’s been three weeks since Richie’s declaration of love and Eddie’s reciprocation. Three weeks because the doctors had said Eddie needed to be under watch that long before they could advise he leave their immediate vicinity. The other Losers had stuck around for the entire length. 

“We came here together and we are leaving here together,” Bill had said, making one of the impromptu motivating speeches that he was so good at. 

Now, Richie is standing on a porch in Long Island surrounded by six suitcases, with his boyfriend ferreting nervously around the kitchen. Richie steps back into the house, trying not to be intimidated by how adult it is. A real house, two stories, clean, with some seriously nice ass electronics. Richie’s apartment is a fucking hovel compared to this. 

“Dude, why do you need those spoons? You think I don’t have spoons? I have goddamn spoons. Chill out,” Richie advises, casting a critical eye at where Eddie is inspecting each spoon as if it might be made of gold. 

“Oh sure, because I’m going to use your mold infested silverware. I was very not on pain killers when you told me you are shit at washing dishes. I’m not catching scurvy from living with you, Tozier.” Eddie flips him off and stoops back over the silverware drawer. His shoulders scrunch up another two inches. 

Richie watches him as he clatters from the spoons to the forks. He jumbles through them without really taking any out, just messing with them really. Richie watches as Eddie’s breathing hitches at little, threatening an asthma attack any time now. Richie watches how Eddie is chewing on his bottom lip like he’s intent on drawing blood. 

“Hey,” Richie says, pitching his voice softer. He walks into the kitchen, circling his arms around Eddie’s waist and drawing his boyfriend against his chest. “It’s okay, Eds. We can buy new stuff, yeah? I’ll even let you buy like fucking soup spoons and salad forks.”

Eddie trips out a laugh, and in his arms, Richie can feel the way he’s shaking, just a little, like all the anxiety coiled up in him needs a physical way to be expressed. Richie hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder and tilts his head to kiss Eddie’s cheek. The bandage had been removed, along with the stitches, and although it’s definitely going to leave a scar, at least Eddie’s perfectly kissable face no longer has a hole in it. 

Eddie exhales, leaning into Richie’s hold. “I’m just not good with change, you know? And this is- this is like a huge fucking change. And I want it, I do,” he rushes to add. “But, I’m still trying to wrap my head around not calling this place home anymore.”

“Mhm,” Richie assures. He unwinds from Eddie, taking Eddie’s hand in his and leading him toward the door. “Help me get these suitcases into the truck, okay? And then we’ll take a break for a little bit.” 

Eddie only resists minimally, just to be stubborn, Richie is sure, before capitulating. He helps Richie lug the six heavy ass suitcases to the back of their rented moving truck. They had to pay extra to cross state lines. 

“Come on,” Richie says. He offers his hand out to Eddie who takes it readily and isn’t that a fucking wonder. A month ago and Richie couldn’t even remember Eddie, just the shape of him he saw in other men. Now he’s got the man he loves standing next to him and it’s the best fucking miracle Richie has ever seen. 

They walk together around the homey suburb, making their way steadily toward the park Richie had seen when they drove in. The park’s not big, just a square patch of grass with some swings and a rusty slide. But there had been benches there too and Richie thinks Eddie might just need some fresh air from all the memories overwhelming him in the house. 

When they get to the park, Richie sits down at the base of one of the few trees in the place. Eddie sits down next to him, turning a little so he can press his spine against Richie’s side. Richie loops his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and around his chest, holding him close. 

“So we’ve got all your clothes,” Richie says. “And the insane pharmaceutical lab that you’ve been hiding in your bathroom.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says with a bark of laughter. “You’re such a fucking jerk.”

“Dude, I’m not the one with, like, Breaking Bad levels of drugs in my bathroom cabinet. I mean, I’ve got some Neosporin and Peptobismal in mine and that’s fucking it.” Richie tilts his head up, looking at the play of light through the green leaves. 

It’s nice here, even if it’s a small, rusting playground. It’s nothing like Richie’s place in Chicago where it backs up on an alley and if you open the window you are bombarded by the smell of the Chinese place downstairs and the dumpster at the end of the alley. 

He’s worried what Eddie’s going to think when he sees the place. They’ll probably move, which is fine with Richie, he doesn’t hold any sentimental feelings toward his place. But in the interim, they’re stuck at his place where the shower always leaks and the kitchen has a funky smell that no amount of Lysol can disperse. 

“It’s called being prepared,” Eddie says, in response to Richie’s latest comment. “Something I can tell you never are. You’re not even wearing matching socks.” He kicks his sneaker into Richie’s All-Stars. 

“Just because you follow the other Sheepeople, don’t be looking down on my nonconformity, my expression of uniqueness, my independent spirit, my free -“

Eddie reaches behind him, wrapping his hand firmly around Richie’s mouth. He’s laughing hard enough that Richie can feel his chest lifting up and down. “You’re such a fucking trip. And see, this stuff, this stuff is actually funny. Not like that crap you are pandering to the masses with your stand-up.”

Richie tries to mumble a response against Eddie’s hand but it earns him no leeway. 

“Say the magic word,” Eddie teases.

Richie kisses Eddie’s palm instead. It earns him his release. He clears his throat, “Like I was trying to say, Eduardo, maybe you can help me with the jokes when we get to Chicago. Help me weed out the pandering ones.” He slants a look down at his boyfriend, strangely nervous that Eddie will reject this offer. 

Eddie tilts his head against Richie’s shoulder, squinting up with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his. Richie could get lost in those eyes, and he knows how fucking cheesy that sounds, but goddamn, it is so true. “You’d trust me with something like that, Rich?”

“I trust you with my life, dipshit. And, as surprising as it is to say, my life is worth at least a little bit more to me than my jokes.” He stretches his back against the tree, appreciating the way it seems to loosen up his stiffening muscles. Hauling Eddie’s suitcases around is no joke. Those things could be filled with body parts rather than the evidence of Eddie’s adult life. 

Summer is slowly edging its way toward fall and around them, leaves just tinging on yellow flutter to the grass. Richie absentmindedly wonders if someone has a job to rake leaves in the parks all over New York. Would that be a shit job or weirdly satisfying? Watching your hours amount to neat and tidy collections of leaves? 

“I don’t know what to tell Myra,” Eddie says, his voice as quiet as those falling leaves. 

Richie shifts his hold on Eddie to remind him he’s there. “I mean, you got the big stuff out of the way. Gay. Boyfriend. Divorce.” 

Eddie licks his bottom lip, shaking his head. “That’s the small stuff, Richie. How do you tell someone you’ve been married to for five years, oh, yeah, sorry, thought I was in love with you but really I was just handling my childhood trauma in an unhealthy way. Looking at you now makes my stomach bottom out and sets me on the edge of a panic attack. When I leave, don’t call, I have nothing for you. Sorry I stole seven years of your life. Best of luck.” 

Richie’s eyes widen behind his smudged lens. Having never been in love before, or with anyone who isn’t Eddie, Richie knows he is entirely ill-equipped for giving advice. “Maybe by singing telegram?”

“Beep, beep, Richie,” Eddie rattles off with loving exasperation. He wedges himself more firmly into Richie’s side, his elbows surprisingly sharp as they dig into Richie’s thigh and side. “When I called and told her the OG big three, she cried. She wouldn’t stop. She told me I was confused. That I just needed to come home and everything would make sense again.” 

Eddie sighs. Richie knows this is a time to listen, so he’s keeping his lips firmly shut. He can do this, he can be a good boyfriend for Eddie. He’ll probably say something stupid after Eddie is done pouring out his heart, but at least he won’t interrupt. And because Eddie loves him, Eddie will know the restraint it took Richie to not interrupt. 

“I told her, over and over again, that that was exactly what had happened. I had finally come home. That I wasn’t confused anymore. That things finally made sense. The reason I had a confusing one night stand with a guy in college with these stupid bulky glasses and messy brown hair. The reason I startle whenever someone calls out for an Eduardo.”

“And you told me you hated that nickname,” Richie scolds gently. 

“Richie,” Eddie says. He turns around, one hand gripping Richie’s forearm. “I hope it’s very fucking clear that there isn’t anything about you I hate. You drive me up the goddamn wall and I fucking love it. No one else has ever gotten under my skin like you. You drive me crazy and it’s so perfect.” He ducks his face close, lips sealing over Richie’s. 

In the dappled sunshine, they tussle against the tree. Richie gets his hand up Eddie’s shirt, he digs his fingers into Eddie’s side, desperate to leave his mark. Eddie groans against him, climbing up and onto Richie’s lap, straddling his long legs. His fingers snare up in Richie’s hair and Richie has never been into hair pulling, but with Eddie tugging just this side of painful, Richie is wondering what exactly the fine is for public indecency. 

Which of course is when some stupid kid shouts, “Get a room, jerks! This is a fucking playground!” 

Richie snaps back from Eddie, smacking his head on the tree. “Language, asshole!” 

“Douche!” The kid, some pre-teen by the looks of him, flips Richie off and rides his skateboard down the rusting slide. 

Eddie dissolves into giggles against Richie’s chest and Richie is beaming as he wraps his arms around his boyfriend.

~*~*~*~*~

Wiping sweat from his brow, Richie asks, “Are you sure that’s the last of it, Eds?” He leans up against the side of the moving truck. After their time in the park, they had come back and spent another two hours packing up Eddie’s stuff. Which is funny, because there’s not really that much of it.

Eddie is leaving all the furniture and electronics. He’s leaving all of the kitchen stuff and the things in the garage. He’s leaving the pictures on the walls and the towels in the bathroom. He’s leaving as if he had never really lived there at all, but had merely been an occupant of Myra’s house. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, hesitating on the porch. He keeps giving second glances to the view of his house through the open front door. 

When Richie rattles down the truck’s back door, Eddie jumps. He looks at Richie with wide, worried eyes. “Come on,” Richie coaxes. “Get in my sweet ride.” 

Eddie quirks a small smile at this. He shuts the front door, locks it, and slips the key beneath the welcome mat. 

Climbing into the truck, Eddie keeps his eyes straight ahead, purposefully seeming to avert his gaze from the house that he used to share with his wife. Richie fiddles with the radio, finding some channel playing the hits from the 70s, sans Led Zeppelin which pleases Richie who has never been a fan. Richie puts the car in gear and steers them out of Eddie’s neighborhood. 

He keeps a subtle eye on Eddie as they wind their way from Long Island onto the highway and from there out of New York in general. Richie doesn’t even keep track of the exits until they are clear of New York entirely. He has an irrational fear that if he pulls over for lunch before then, Eddie will go bolting back to his house and forget all about the boy from Derry he’s supposed to be running away with. 

“You game for Denny’s?” Richie asks as they are cruising through New Jersey on I-78. 

Eddie shrugs. Richie takes it for a yes and eases them off the interstate. They’ve been driving for two and half hours. It’s another ten minute drive to the Denny’s which has a surprisingly full parking lot. But then again, this is Jersey. Maybe Denny’s is thought highly of here. 

After parking the car, they enter and take a seat at a booth by a window. Richie makes a show of opening his menu and hemming and hawing over the numerous food options. “It’s like, do I want forty-two eggs, or seventy-two pancakes. The choices are endless. How do I choose, Eds? How do I choose!” 

Eddie looks at him briefly over the top of his menu. “Get chocolate chip pancakes with whip cream like I know you want to.” 

Richie cackles. “Dude! You don’t have to drag me like that.”

Eddie cants an eyebrow at him. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” Richie busts up laughing again. 

Eddie cracks a smile, laying his own menu down. He aims weirdly pointed eye contact and an overly cheerful smile at the waitress. The required transaction to earn service from the wait staff in America. Richie had spent a few random months in Hong Kong, six years back, bumming with an old college roommate. It had been so mind blowing to see Paul just lift his hand in a flagging motion and have a waitress come over. And no tipping? Fucking wild. 

Still the waitress, a girl in her twenties, comes over with an overly cheerful smile of her own. “What can I get for you two?”

“I’ll have the veggie omelet, please,” Eddie says politely. You’d never guess from his mild manner that Eddie talks shit to Richie like the world is ending tomorrow. 

Richie smiles at this secret side of Eddie he’s privileged to know. “Can I get the Sunday Pancakes with a side of ice cream and a chocolate shake?”

“Diabetes!” Eddie cries, his expression aghast. “Jesus, Richie, why don’t you just eat the sugar directly from the packets on the table?”

“Only if you double dog dare me,” Richie teases, waggling his eyebrows. 

Eddie ignores him, turning directly to the waitress. “He isn’t getting that. He’s kidding. He’s deluded. He’s also probably unsanitary, but that’s not your problem, it’s mine.”

“Lies and slander! And I definitely getting the Sunday Pancakes, ice cream, and a milkshake. I’m an adult, I make adult choices.” Richie slaps his menu closed like that decides the issue. 

The waitress hesitates, looking between the two of them. “Uhm, so, is that a yes or a no on the pancakes?”

“No!” Eddie declares, raising his voice to be heard over Richie’s emphatic ‘yes.’ “He’s getting the chocolate chip pancakes with a side of fresh fruit and a very large glass of water, thank you.” He snatches Richie’s menu away from him and hands both menus over to the waitress. 

She smiles sweetly, dipping her eyes shyly before saying,. “You guys are, like, the cutest couple.” 

Eddie’s cheeks go beet red. Richie feels elated. “Thank you! I’ve been telling this guy for years, but he just wouldn’t believe me. We’re made for the movies, Eddie-Spaghetti. Hollywood wouldn’t be able to get enough of us!”

The waitress giggles, smiling at them before leaving to put in their order. Underneath the table, Eddie snags his foot around Richie’s ankle. “You are so fucking embarrassing, Tozier,” he grumbles. 

“And you love it,” Richie counters. Eddie doesn’t deny it. 

When their waters come, the waitress, whose name according to her name tag is Sally, tosses two straws onto the table. Richie stabs his straw through the paper and plunges it into his water. Eddie immediately picks up the wrapper and begins winding it around his finger, his eyes tracing the fake wood grain of the table. 

“I don’t need any of that stuff,” Eddie says, voice canted low so that only Richie will hear him. “From the house, I mean.”

Richie hunches forward, wanting to afford Eddie at least the illusion of privacy. “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Eds. I’m here to take you home with me. If that means you want to drive back and lug out the fridge, then I’ll do it, no questions asked. If that means you want to start pitching your polo shirts out the passenger window of the truck, then I’ll hand you each shirt.” 

Eddie blinks up at Richie, soft awe in his expression. Richie wants to bundle him up like the tiny bean he is and stick him in his pocket. As he can’t do that, he lifts his straw out of his glass and blows water at Eddie’s face. 

Eddie squawks in disgust, hastily wiping his face dry. He glowers at Richie but it only lasts for a second before a smile is lurking at the corner of his mouth. It’s given away by those amazing dimples that Eddie grew into. The ones Richie wants to kiss until the shapes of his lips is imprinted onto them. 

“I’m just saying,” Eddie carries on valiantly in the face of Richie’s distractions, “I want Myra to have that stuff. It’s as much hers as it is mine. And she hasn’t worked since we got married. I can’t - I can’t let her move into an apartment, Richie, to start all over. I just - “ he breaks off, shaking his head. 

“Hey.” Richie reaches over and covers Eddies’ fidgeting hand with his own. “You’re a good guy, Eddie. And if I haven’t told you, you’re doing something really fucking brave. You’re walking away from the security of all you’ve done before and into a chaotic void with me. And that takes real strength, man.” 

Eddie inhales and exhales slowly. “Why do you always talk to me like you think I’m something special?”

Richie frowns at him. He runs his thumb over the top of Eddie’s hand. “Because you are, Eds. You’re second best only to Stan, but we can’t all be the saint that Stan was. But you, Eddie, you don’t give up. You dive into shit that you know is going to scare you, and you do it with your eyes wide open. That’s amazing. You amaze me. And I love you for it.”

Eddie’s blushing again, the color curling up his cheeks. “I’m not that special.”

Richie shrugs. “You are to me. And if you really think most guys who realize they’re gay and decide to run off with their middle school crush are worried about things like making sure their soon to be ex-wife is comfortable, that she knows she didn’t do anything wrong, that he’s going to arrange an alimony that lets her chose whether or not she wants to go back to work, than I have some hard truths for you, Eddie.” 

Eddie tugs on Richie’s hand until Richie gets up and moves to the other side of the booth. Eddie leans his weight against him, his head on Richie’s shoulder. “Who knew that Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was the sweetest talker?”

“Only for you, Eds, don’t go blowing my cover,” Richie whispers, turning and kissing the crown of Eddie’s head.

~*~*~*~*~

After Denny’s they get another four hours of driving in before calling it quits for the day. Eddie locates them a motel in the city of Mantau, Ohio where the biggest landmark is some historic farm. Richie has never trusted Ohio and now, he actively disdains it. They have toll roads with endless road but no fucking pit stops for gas and bathrooms, if that isn’t he’ll, Richie doesn’t know what is.

As Richie follows the two lane road to their room for the night, he squints incredulously at Haven’s Motel. Beside him, Eddie is anxiously gripping the armrests. “You going to be okay here, Eds?” Richie asks, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

At his feet, Eddie has a backpack secured with both of his fanny packs, his panic meds, and whatever other things Eddie Kaspbrak considers necessities. But Richie is still pretty certain he doesn’t have enough Lysol to ever make himself feel germ free in this place. 

“The next Marriott is two more hours away, Richie,” Eddie says with grim determination. 

“Would you rather sleep in the truck? I mean, these seats don’t recline, but for a tiny speck of a thing like you, you should be able to stretch out on this bench seat like it’s a King sized bed.” Richie pats Eddie indulgently on the head. 

Eddie beats him off savagely and Richie starts laughing, completely charmed by Eddie’s righteous indignation. “Get out! Get out, we are going in. We are going to pay fifty bucks extra for the room to be bleached down before we go in. We won’t use the bathroom. We’ll - we’ll pee in a fucking can if we have to.”

“A can!” Richie exclaims, delighted. “How did you ever survive in our hangout when we were kids? If it wasn’t the spiders, then what about the dirt? Just the general mustiness of the place?”

“You know I had to have my extra inhaler for the mold in there,” Eddie protests. “You know this! I know you know this because you always got extra witty about me having two of everything and did that mean I had two dicks too and -“ Eddie whips around to face Richie, this horrible knowing look in his eyes. 

“Hey, ho, let’s go, and all that,” Richie says. He’s pulling open his door, trying to dodge that look. But Eddie’s laser gaze is burning into the back of Richie’s neck. Richie looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question, daring him to say it. 

“Wow,” Eddie says, a smile blossoming across his thin and perfect mouth. “Wow. I mean, dude, how did you survive your teenage years? Could you have pulled my pigtails any harder?”

Richie makes a face. He knows he’s not particularly emotionally equipped for big fancy things like love. “I had dope moves, the dopest. And they totally charmed you, don’t lie.”

“Imagine, Little Richie Tozier looking out for me, making sure I had my extra inhaler for our death trap of a hang out by asking if I had two dicks. Man,” Eddie closes his eyes and shakes his head sentimentally, “the romance.”

This sparks a bright laugh out of Richie. He shoves Eddie’s shoulder, still mindful of his still healing injury. “Fuck you, man.”

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, lips pressed together, a coy smile on his lips. “You definitely will, but sure as shit not here.” 

“Jesus,” Richie hisses. He yanks his door shut again and flings himself over the bench seat until he’s able to make-out with Eddie properly. Lips, tongue, and teeth nipping, licking, sucking. Eddie pulls Richie in close by his shirt collar, kissing back eagerly, then shoves Richie away forcefully.

Before Richie can worry he’s fucked up somehow, Eddie grabs his hand and squeezes. “We need to get in there now, or I’m going to lose my bravado, and I really will spend the night sleeping out here in the truck.”

~*~*~*~*~

The lobby is a rectangular room with faded wallpaper and brown carpets. “To hide the stains,” Eddie whispers as they approach the unmanned front desk.

There’s a little silver bell with a hand written sign directing them to ring for service. Before Richie can beat out a scintillating rhythm, Eddie grabs his hand and sticks it into his own jacket pocket, holding on as he reaches for and options for a completely boring and reasonable single bell chime. Richie expresses the depth of his disappointment with a large frown. Eddie meets his look head on with one that says, ‘I fucking know you, dude.’

A man in his fifties, wearing beige slacks and mellow yellow short-sleeve button up strolls out of the backroom. He gives Eddie and Richie the once over. “What can I do you for?” He asks. 

“We have reservation under the name Kaspbrak,” Eddie says. Richie frees his hand from Eddie’s pocket to get out his wallet. 

“Uh-huh,” the guy confirms. He turns to his computer, a real life desktop that Richie is pretty sure occupied the computer lab of his college. After slowly poking at each key, the guy scans over the details of their reservation. Then he looks back at them. He frowns. “You booked a King. Did you want two fulls instead?”

Richie takes a moment to process his first encounter with blatant homophobia. Eddie, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate for one fucking second. He slams both palms down on the counter and the pens in their tin holder clatter together. “Why the fuck would I book a King if I wanted two fulls? Why would I do that?”

The guy looks shocked, eyes going round. “Well, I just assumed,” he gestures vaguely at them. 

“You assumed what? Huh? I am gay and this idiot is my boyfriend and we want the fucking King bed we booked!” Eddie is leaning so far over the counter that he is practically in the guy’s face. 

Richie is completely turned on by Eddie being all enraged and assertive. He’s got this urge to praise ‘Yass, Queen,’ but he thinks it might interrupt Eddie’s flow, so he holds himself back. 

The guy throws up both hands. “No! No, that’s not at all -“ he starts shaking his head wildly. “You can have the King, no problem, I’ll even give you half price! But that isn’t what I meant, I was just,” he gestures vaguely at them again. “You’ve got a wedding ring on, he doesn’t, I don’t know. I thought maybe . . .” He trails off. “My deepest apologies, really. I didn’t mean any offense, on my mama’s grave I didn’t.” 

Eddie shrinks immediately into himself and Richie jumps into action. “Cool, half off, we love it. Rings can be misleading. I gotcha.” He flips open his wallet, hands the guy his MasterCard. “Can you throw in an extra cleaning? My boyfriend has major allergies and we need heavy bleach so he’s not up all night hacking his lungs out.” He slings his arm jovially around Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie is stiff as a statue under his touch. 

The guy won’t even look at them now, a fierce blush absolutely blazing up his throat and over his cheeks. He takes the card and runs it. “Of course, no problem with the cleaning. Give me a half hour to get it done. There’s a great diner down the road a ways. Or, hey, have you checked out our historic farm?”

“Nope, not yet! Top on our list, that old farm.” Richie signs for their room, and guides Eddie out of the lobby. 

They make it to the car before Eddie starts trying to hyperventilate. Richie digs through Eddie’s backpack, locating an honest to god paper bag near the bottom. He hands it over to Eddie who fists it, shoves his face into it, and starts inflating and deflating the bag with his quick, uneven breaths. 

“So,” Richie says, drawing out the word. “That was the hottest thing I have ever seen and I definitely think you should go full Hulk more often! I mean, I was moments away from just ravishing you in that motel lobby, mildew be damned.” 

Eddie jerks around, his big brown eyes even larger than normal. He chokes into the bag. “Yeah, baby,” Richie groans, “talk dirty to me.” 

Eddie chokes again and fights with the paper bag before throwing it to the floor. “Are you insane?” he demands.

“I’m crazy for you, if that’s what you mean.” Richie winks. 

Eddie’s jaw drops. “I just bitched that man out for being prejudice when in fact, I’m the freak who’s wearing a wedding ring from the marriage he had to the woman who was his mother in every possible way and is now running off with his boyfriend. Because, you know, I’m gay. Like I screamed in that guy’s face.”

“Do it again,” Richie encourages. “Do your whole thing again. Pretend, like, the dashboard is the motel guy. Then, before he was all nice and apologetic, we’ll pretend he said something really offensive and to show the bastard dashboard just how okay and proud we are of being gay, I’ll get down on my knees and blow you.”

Eddie blinks, jaw still hanging. It takes a moment, and then Eddie seems to reboot, his jaw snapping closed and his eyes blinking several times. He breathes in, looks at Richie resolutely, and says, “We should get married. Not like today, or anything, but this is it for me. You’re it for me. Because you’re crazy, and you’re the worst, and you love the rough parts of me, and yeah, you’re it. You're my one and only.” 

He says it methodically, like he’s laying out a logical plan of action. Richie’s world kind of whites out for a second. This is Eddie. Risk analyst Eddie. Who has to know there are one million risks if he ties his life together with Richies. This is, in a word, epic. 

“I - yeah - no, we should definitely -“ And Richie is speechless, for the first time in his life probably. He stares in disbelief, with Eddie who moments ago need a paper bag to breathe and who is now just waiting patiently for Richie to figure out how to finish a sentence. 

Richie claps both hands to his face, feeling the heat in his cheeks at this sudden reversal of their roles that is happening. Chaotic Eddie meets Bewildered Richie. “No, yeah, we just went from zero to one hundred and I am so fucking on board,” Richie decides. 

“Great.” Eddie nods. “Yeah.” He turns to Richie still with that impressive calm.. “Can you roll the window down?”

“Sure,” Richie says, depressing the switch for the passenger window. He watches as Eddie messes with his hand for a moment. Then Eddie holds up a circlet of gold. “Eddie?”

Eddie twists the ring between his fingers. Then he stretches his hand out the window and lets go. The ring falls out of sight. Richie imagines he hears a clink as it hits the asphalt. 

“Come on, Rich, let’s go see that old fucking farm.” 

“Yeah,” Richie says, grinning, “yeah, let’s go.” And all those worries Richie had, they just fade to nothing. 

Eddie’s here, with Richie, because he wants to be. Because more than anything else, he wants to ride passenger as Richie drives them towards some ludicrous historic farm in Bumfuck, Ohio. Because he loves Richie. 

And Eddie’s going to be okay. He’s made his choice, and he’s coming to terms with it. Yeah, there might still be times when he needs Richie to be there for him as he sorts through what it means to be divorced at forty but living with his boyfriend. But that’s what Richie wants to be there for. He wants to be there for the highs and the lows. He wants to be there for Eddie for always. 

But don’t fucking tell anyone because Richie’s name is Trashmouth, not Sweet Talker, and he wants that inscribed on his motherfucking gravestone. Richie Trashmouth Tozier. Or Kaspbrak. Whichever way it ends up.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think about this series continuing on. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://wistful-wisterias.tumblr.com)


End file.
